Chapter Text
Broken glass.
Scared.
Father.
Crying boy.
Gun.
Scared.
Danger.
Hostage.
Weeping.
Desperate.
Danger.
Haribo gummies.
Broken glass.
Messy.
Quiet.
Loud.
Danger.
Gun.
Pink dress.
White poke-a-dots.
Weeping.
Gun.
Gunman.
Weeping.
Cocky.
Danger.
“Stay back!”
Crying boy.
Scared father.
Weeping Hostage.
Pink dress with white poke-a-dots.
Desperate gunman.
Messy family-owned store.
Haribo gummies covered in broken glass.
Danger.
Cocky Bakugo.
“I said stay back! I’ll fucking shoot her!”
“P-ple—ase…!”
Danger.
Gun.
Cocky.
Desperate.
Gunman.
Hostage.
Boy.
Father.
Hero.
“Don’t fuck with me!”
Cocky.
Cocky.
Danger.
Gun.
“I-I swear to fucking God I’ll blow her brains out if you take one more fucking step!”
Desperate.
Weeping.
Danger.
Cocky.
Bang.
Bakugo fell back with a shout, clutching his abdomen after a rough landing on the ground. He curled into a ball and wheezed in pain, the gunshot ringing in his head leaving him disoriented. Hazily glancing around, he found himself in his living room and only then did he begin to remember nearly three months had passed since he had been shot. The blond laid on the floor for a moment, waiting for his frantic heartbeats to calm. Breathing slowly and deeply, he allowed his tense body to relax. He pushed himself onto shaky feet, wondering how he had gotten into his living room when he had fallen asleep in his bed. His abdomen throbbed painfully before he could dwell on the question for too long. He pressed a hand against it, hoping to stifle the pain, wincing as he waited for it to subside.
Bullet.
Gun.
Bullet.
Gunman.
Bang.
His eyes shot open as he instinctively dug his nails into his sensitive flesh. A new kind of pain surged through his body, but he preferred to deal with it rather than the nightmare continuously looping in his head. With a heavy sigh, the blond let himself fall onto his sofa; hand still resting above his scarred wound. The pain was steadily fading, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep if he attempted to do so now. Instead, he chose to sit in his living room until the pain faded entirely and his mind returned to peace. Glancing around, he saw that things had shifted.
His couch was slightly crooked and his coffee table was tipped over far out of reach. He must have moved both of those things when he fell. Bakugo resisted the urge to cling to his wound any tighter despite the growing tension in his body. Deep breaths, he told himself. And yet they could only help so much. Fishing through the cushions, he pulled out the TV remote hoping to distract his mind. With a click of a button, the dark screen hanging on the center of his wall came to life. A woman with a bob cut clad in blue took center stage.
“…powerful influence from such admirable behaviour!” She said cheerfully.
“He really has taken after All Might!” The camera pulled out to reveal another woman with a similar hairstyle. A man in orange sat at the other end of the table, nodding in agreement.
Deku? Bakugo wondered.
“It’s no surprise.” The orange man declared. “Number One Hero Deku has never been shy about his admiration for All Might nor about their history.”
“Figures.” Bakugo whispered spitefully, ready to change the channel, but then stayed his hand on a whim.
“What really impresses me, however,” The man continued, “are the other heroes who trained with Deku beneath All Might. I mean no disrespect to our Number One Hero, but we must admit that his colleagues don’t get as much attention and public admiration as he does.”
“Very true!” The woman in blue agreed with an enthusiastic nod. “Honestly, do you all remember when it was first announced that All Might would take up a teaching position at UA?” They laughed their yeses reminiscently. “It was totally crazy! And yet, he might have yielded the most upstanding heroes of our generation!”
“Shouto Todoroki comes to mind, immediately.” The second woman chimed in. Bakugo rolled his eyes and considered changing the channel again.
“Yes! He was Number One Hero too, right?” The man pondered aloud. “For a short time though, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Yes, for a little less than a year.” The former confirmed. “I never quite understood why he retired from hero work in the prime of his career, but, honestly, he never really retired, did he?” The other two laughed in agreeance. “He keeps popping up in the news every now and again for having been at the right place at the right time—”
“If only to be publicly chastised by the police force for acting without a permit.” The woman in blue cut in, laughing.
“Who else?” The man mused.
Clicking his tongue, Bakugo decided he had heard enough. He never liked nor understood the gossipy format of talk shows, especially late night ones. Surely, there was something better to watch.
“Oh! What was his name?” The woman in blue excitedly exclaimed. “The angry one with the explosions?”
“Oh, yes! Ground Zero!” The other woman said. “Katsuki Bakugo! The one who was shot!”
“That’s right! Last time anyone’s heard of him, he was in critical condition after getting shot—”
Bakugo shut the TV and left for his bed. He would fix his living room tomorrow. Climbing beneath his covers, he rolled onto his side. He ignored the anger building in his chest, chalking off the talk show hosts as idiots in an attempt to appease himself.
I’m not broken. I’ll show them. I’m not broken.
And yet, his back began to tingle familiarly as though someone, the gunman, were standing behind him, watching him. He knew he obviously wasn’t there and a quick peak over his shoulder confirmed it. Nevertheless, when he turned back and forced himself to close his eyes, he could feel the gunman’s presence; he could hear the clicking of a gun being desperately waved around, and a trembling finger ready to pull the trigger.
I’m not broken. I’ll show them. Go to sleep.